


Simple Addition

by wolfgirl232



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Other, mental sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgirl232/pseuds/wolfgirl232
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS loves to play with her Doctor. And make no mistake, he is hers. And, oh, how she loves to remind him.</p><p>Rated explicit for descriptive mental intercourse (which is completely a thing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Addition

Sometimes it’s a long time between companions.

But your life is never empty—there are universes to see, races to save, and your life dances to the overarching music of her presence in your head. Because no matter how long between clever girls, she is always there, because she chose you and you chose her and you will always belong to her. Your existences are inexorably entwined and you will always be her Doctor.

Her mind slips like silk through your own, and upon entrance through her doors you can hear her pleasure in the pitch of the notes wreathing around your neurons, the cadences that contain the light of her existence. You beam at the console, and she strokes against your mind like a cat.

A very insistent cat, you notice.

“Somebody hungry?” You ask of the silent air, and the pitch in your head wavers in affirmation. You close your eyes and let your mind slip deeper into hers, swaying as you lose track of your body to wend yourself around her consciousness like fingers twining together. You are utterly encompassed by her breadth, and you let yourself be lost in the thrum of your ship.

You smile languorously as she begins to tangle herself with you, the constantly tangential bubble of her mind growing molten, filtering into the cracks in your own and making you reciprocate her hum, your voice box thrumming in appreciation. Oh, your sweet girl.

The autotune oscillation reverberating in your skull answers, and you easily translate: silly Time Lord. But of course, you belong much more to her than the other way round. Despite your ability to technically speak TARDIS, she loves to play coy with you, sharing only modulated notes of her general emotions, allowing your mind to work your own words into her context. She likes to see what you do with them. And she loves to watch your mind at work.

Sometimes, when you two are alone, she’ll feed you complex strings of quantum differentials, watching the machination of your mind as it tries to unravel the knotty problems. Nothing gets to her more than watching your mind do backbends. Especially those exerted at her request.

She draws you closer, your feet carrying you in toward the console, as she curls the edges of her consciousness in excitement. Your sharp intake of breath has her laughing again—there start those mental gymnastics.

Your knee makes contact with the console and you kneel, resting your head against the cool surface, grounding yourself to her. She strokes you, wrapping you completely up in her warmth. You are so safe with her. Because you are her Doctor. You can hear the possession in her humming.

Your lips part as she, so delicately as to be almost accidental, slips along the outside of your pleasure center. At your reaction, she deliberately curls a tendril around it and strokes along its length, drawing out a moan from your mouth. Both of your hands fly to the console, your fingertips pressed to her as she coils around you and she’s everywhere, filling you and you begin to lose all sense of the physicality of your body, your inner ear inverted and your sense of relative temperature fluctuating wildly. Your fingers are electric. Your head falls backwards as she again assaults that tiny pinprick of ecstasy, that tiny nerve-ending, time-ending place buried in your psyche that she maps over and over with her strokes and you can’t breathe.

Another of her tendrils slips down your mental map of your body to your throat, so tangibly you can almost feel the gentle stroke of knuckles over your windpipe as she reminds you of air, Doctor you need air to live. You gasp in raggedly and she rewards you with a twist of her presence around that _place_ again and you are lost, so lost and you are begging her now, please take me get closer closer _closer_.

You latch on to her as tightly as you can manage as you ride out her assault of that _oh gods yes right there_ and everything behind your eyes is her light, her pulsing, beating, breathing being, and she is everything to you and you want your mind to disintegrate into hers, to join her in her intangible omniscience, to float with her endlessly in the vortex, the binary swirling around you.

She makes this delicious noise, this _keening_ that has you thrusting upwards at the empty space, your anatomy straining under her ministrations at your zipper and _oh please_. Your mind coils into knots, swirling around and through and with her, begging for release, for more for _no don’t stop_.

Her laughter mingles with your oaths as she slides along you slowly, pressing every inch of herself to that concentrated center of the universe and you are so dizzy and then she launches forward again to pull everything taut, your whole body alive, muscles rigid, blood pounding and you hover there an imperceptibly hesitant second and.

And your world comes cataclysmically down on you as you cry out and she with you, the liquid pleasure of her mind crashing over you as you empty yourself, all that you are, into her consciousness. She holds you tightly until you are only breath and flesh, caressing you a moment before pouring you back in, slipping you quietly back into your skull. Her mind and yours reform, once more touching, but whole unto yourselves, her psyche Venn Diagrammed with yours as she stays dipped into you just a little longer in the afterglow of your supernovae.

It takes a moment before you can let your mind drift back to your physiology, and you let yourself become fully aware before you open your eyes and lift your fingers from the console. You lean forward and press a kiss to her smooth metal, the worn surface tender beneath your lips, before you rise to your feet and take stock of yourself.

“Ah...love?” You call to her out loud, “Might you procure a wardrobe? Preferably with non-sticky trousers?”

She only laughs.


End file.
